


Cold Bones, Yeah That's My Love

by thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes



Series: All The Outs In Free [1]
Category: Oxenfree
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catharsis, F/M, Heavy Angst, I Don't Even Know, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Language, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 17:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes/pseuds/thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes
Summary: "You said that last time. And the time before that. And you will next time," she sighs inwardly at the words, "but I think we both know it's not that easy- not for me."For a few moments, they're quiet- not silent, the radio still has a distant sound that, if she listens closely enough, could be interference, it's the closest thing to silence that she has for now."We know. We. We're sorry. Al. Ex."In the mix and match of voices, she can hear what sounds like a young woman- Anna, she learned- and smiles. It's a sad, crooked thing, like a puppet with just one uneven string, but it shows just what she needs it to."I know."





	Cold Bones, Yeah That's My Love

**Author's Note:**

> Titel from my favourite song: Wheres my love by syml bc lets be honest it suits the game and this ship sO well

  _"_ _Broken. Children. Playing with. Broken. Toys."_

 They laugh at her- not literally, she can't even hear it, but she can  _feel_ it.

_"Silly girl. Blue. Hair. Just give. Up."_

The layers and layers of voices crackle and she can't decide wether it sounds more like waves crashing against cliffsides or the static of a radio. She isn't sure if she wants to know.

_"It is. So much. Easier. To give. Up. Stop. Try. Trying."_

She remembers how she used to be scared of those voices, of the distant  _pop pop pop kzzzsch_ of morse code and resets. She remembers how terrified she was when she realised just what was happening to them- to  _her._ She almost remembers her life before the island, it's fuzzy around the edges and part of her isn't even sure if it was real or not, but it's there nonetheless. 

"You said that last time. And the time before that. And you will next time," she sighs inwardly at the words, "but I think we both know it's not that easy- not for me."

 For a few moments, they're quiet- not silent, the radio still has a distant sound that, if she listens closely enough, could be interference, it's the closest thing to silence that she has for now. Jonas looks at her funny because to him they've only just fucked with the first anomoly of the night and, sure, it all feels a little  _too_ familiar, but that's still all that he knows.

" _We know. We. We're sorry. Al. Ex."_

In the mix and match of voices, she can hear what sounds like a young woman- Anna, she learned- and smiles. It's a sad, crooked thing, like a puppet with just one uneven string, but it shows just what she needs it to.

"I know."

* * *

 

 She still reacts when she watches Not-Clarissa fall from the window, not because she's shocked or feels the need to force it like the sociopath she's slowly becoming just to prove to Jonas that she still has feelings, but because she feels like it should affect her more. She's repeated the same night so many times now that she should be about 30 years old, but there has to be at least  _some_ humanity left in her, right? She's seen this all so many times that she might as well be pushing Clarissa's posessed body to the ground herself, and it's worrying just how  _little_ guilt she feels.

* * *

 

 She has her radio out and set to the correct station before they even meet up with Ren, and Jonas asks her about it, about how she's been speaking to the ghosts like old friends, how she's been mouthing along to every word he's said that night, as if she knows what he's going to say before  _he_ does. She stays silent, staring wistfully at the device in her hands.

 "There's your boy," Jonas sighs, as if he sees little point in proclaiming it to Alex when a part of him suspects she already knows. They follow him further up the mountain and she plays around with the wheels on the music boxes and continues on over to Ren on the cliffside, radio at the ready.

"I'm sorry," she whispers to the ghosts, because she knows that this hurts them- she learned sometime after she began speaking to them- and Jonas assumes she is speaking to her best friend, so he doesn't question further.

(If only he knew just how little she felt he was her best friend now.)

* * *

 

 Ren and Jonas are arguing again, Nona is standing to the side, as usual, and simply looks on as the boys proceed to get more and more aggrivated. They're expecting her to choose who to bring with her to Main Street, the knows that, but she simply ignores them in favor of heading down and away from the tower and, if someone follows her, it won't change much anyway.

 When she reaches the electric fence, she glances behind her and catches Jonas' worried gaze and wonders if he can tell just how tired she is. She kicks the gate open.

* * *

 

  _"Is. Leave. Possible."_

They ask for the millionth time, more for show than anything else now, and she smiles at the slight glisten of darkness that is the ghosts. They shoot back an equally watery, somber expression that, unless you knew how to look, would go unnoticed, what with the way they only have empty, red eyes, glowing like the hellfire version of aurora borealis.

 She walks away from the car, Jonas in tow, and enters the parks and recreational facility, approaching the desk with the WAL radios and Maggie Adler's stupid, god damned letter (but aren't they all damned, now). She takes one of the devices and puts it in her pocket, fully ready to move on and finish the night once again, like clockwork- but something stops her, something she thought was impossible, something different.

 "How many times?" Jonas questions from where he stands in the doorway, moonlight illuminating him almost angelically.

"What?" She whispers, startled because this time has been the exact same as always, why is it suddenly changing?

"You know what I mean, Alex," He states matter-of-factly.

And she cracks.

 She cracks because she wants it to be over. She wants to go home, with a brother and a boy that barely knows her, but that she knows like the back of her hand. She wants him to get to know her again, to hold her hand for the first time again, to kiss her for the first time again, fumbling and bumping noses and giggles. She wants them to get together again for what must be 17th time now- or is it the 18th? It's hard to remember. She wants them to lay down in bed together again, either panting and covered in nothing but sweat and their own skin, or just tired and close together. She wants it to be over so she can whisper "I love you"'s into his calloused palm and have it whispered back into the nape of her neck feather light and quiet as they drift into sleep that might be filled with nightmares or maybe not.

 She only realises she's crying when a warm hand that smells far too strongly of tobacco touches her cheek. She pushes it away, turns around and pushes the contents of the desk behind her onto the floor. She takes books off of the shelf and throws them at the wall with so much force she distantly hears get wrists pop lightly. Jonas simply watches her.

 When she's gotten everything out of her system, she collapses to the floor in a heap of Alex shaped skin and bones, sobbing into her hands until they're replaced with a warm chest that won't remember being tainted by tears once the night is over.

"Too many times."

* * *

 

 She's underwater again, and Not-Clarissa is there, as usual. But she's not saying anything- just staring at her, through her, maybe, and for once, it is silent.

_"Broken. Children. Playing with. Broken. Toys. Poor girl. Al. Ex."_

She nods, far past the point of needing to respond- they know what she has to say. But she can't say the same for them. Not anymore.

_"Think. We. We're done. Play. Playing. Moving on. Is. Maybe. Not. So frightening. Anymore. Maybe. Leave. Is. Possible."_

Not-Clarrisa's body fades away into the endless ocean around them, leaving only a dark mass of shadow in her stead, several pairs of red eyes staring back at her brown ones. They walk down to her, no longer as menacing as they had been when they first encountered them.

_"Perhaps we. Are all. Broken. Children."_

There is a gentle, almost timid pressure around her now, cold and wet like seaweed. They are hugging her.

"Perhaps we are."

* * *

 This time, when she wakes up on the ferry back home, things are different. She can tell.

"When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not; but I am getting old, and soon I shall remember only the latter."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love this game but it fucks with my hallucinations
> 
> So of course i keep playing it i mean who do you think i am
> 
> Also if you couldnt already guess i took a different variation of the Mark Twain quote at the end of the game to be like a sense of finality or to show that its different


End file.
